Here's Looking at You, Kid
by Cacolac
Summary: There were three movies he'd never be able to watch without thinking about her, Michael realised one day. There were a gazillion movies he'll never watch with her, either. But even Bogart wasn't able to hold on to his soul mate so, well...


I own nothing. Seriously, _nothing_.

There were three movies he'd never be able to watch without thinking about her, Michael realised one day. There were a gazillion movies he'll never watch with her. But, well, even Bogart wasn't able to hold on to his very own soul mate so maybe he shouldn't feel too bad about himself. Maybe.

* * *

**1. Die Hard**

She was lying on her sofa, trying to find the sleep she had been missing the past few days. Her temples were hurting and she could hear the high pitch noise that pierces your eardrums when you are in a too silent room after a too noisy day.

Her dad was sick. Not _very _sick_, _not enough that it justified to take some personal day she didn't have. So she stayed in Scranton and even though she had her mom on the phone twice a day, it wasn't quite enough. Her dad was sick, he wasn't young anymore, surgery's always tricky and she wasn't even with him. She couldn't wait for Friday night, she had already booked a plane for Des Moines. But it was only Tuesday and a lot can happen in three days. She shouldn't have been worrying. It was nothing, her mother had said. She couldn't help it. It wasn't just thinking about her father in a hospital. Life was spinning too fast for her right now.

She hadn't seen her family since Christmas, she was trying to adjust to a new town and except from Michael, she had a hard time connecting with her coworkers. Being from HR wasn't helping. Befriending the boss wasn't helping. Having a crush on said boss (who happened to have an incredibly... _complex _relationship with his ex) was just plain stupid. It made it all a little overwhelming.

Around six thirty, she heard someone park in front of her house. She knew it was him from the knock on the door. He had tried some rhythm she probably was supposed to recognise. She didn't catch what it was, something between the James Bond theme and the William Tell Overture.

Her headache faded as she got up and opened the door.

There he was, grinning broadly, hiding something in his back.

'Hiyo!'

'Hey.'

'Do you know what's the best remedy for a gloomy day?'

She almost answered 'sex'. Didn't. Instead, she only shook her head.

His hands left his back and he showed what he had brought.

'_Die Hard_ and Chinese food!'

And there he was, making his point by waving under her nose three DVDs and a bag of food. She closed her eyes for a second, wondering why on earth spending the evening watching an action movie (_three, s_he reminded herself. Three action movies) didn't seem such a bad idea. Maybe it was because Michael was there. Maybe it was the Chinese food. Probably both.

'So, can I come in?' he asked, his grin slowly disappearing. She smiled at him and answered.

'Sure! You had me at _Chinese Food._'

His grin reappeared suddenly and she felt lightheaded for half a second. She let him enter and as he stepped into her house their hands touched for a moment and he lingered there a little longer than necessary.

It was actually the first time he came into her house. They were just friends, _of course_, and he spent a lot of his evenings preparing baby stuff with Jan. She didn't ask why he didn't have any maternity obligations tonight. She decided to enjoy spending an evening watching meaningless movies with a good friend while eating takeover. She was already making her own life complicated enough, she could use a break.

He looked around, clearly impressed. Why, she couldn't tell. Her place was nothing memorable. It was, as a matter of fact, as boring as a house could get. Yet, he stayed in her entrance, seemingly struck by awe as he slowly looked around.

'So that's it. Nice place.'

She shrugged.

'Not really.'

'Wow, awesome.' he whispered, probably more to himself, as he walked towards her record collection. He dropped what he had brought on her coffee table and consulted every CD in minute detail, sometimes chuckling or frowning when he stumbled into a known item. She watched him, motionless, waiting for his approval.

'Wow, you've got so many things.'

He kept looking around, reading under his breath every name.

'_The Cure, Chopin, Chris Isaac, Buckley, Hendrix, The Mamas and the Papas, the Blues Brothers, Counting Crows, Beethoven, Talking Heads, CAKE... _There's like... _everything_! I mean, I've never heard of half of it. Who's this Haydn guy? And you almost have every CD I've got. You probably don't listen to my CD mix too often...'

'No!' she answered, a little too fast. 'It's in my car. I listen to it a lot. It's great.'

He turned around and smiled, his eyes wide.

'Great. Hey, you know what's great too?' He picked up his DVDs and held them at arm's length, showing them to her. 'Bruce Willis, that guy from Harry Potter, and a whole lot of blood!' He tried to open her DVD player, failed and decided he would be better at getting the food out of its bag.

'I wasn't sure what you liked so I got plenty so you know, you get to choose whatever you want. No sesame seed though. I know that. No sesame seed for you.'

'Thanks.'

After twenty minutes and a few thousand gunshots, she had forgotten all about her lousy day. Half following the movie, half talking with Michael, time was flying by.

She fell asleep around the middle of _Die Harder_ but woke up just in time for the helicopter scene. When she woke up, her eyes met his and she saw him quickly turn around. He then stared at the TV without blinking or talking until the very end of the movie.

It was 1:30 AM when they saw McClane deliver his last 'Yippie ki-yay'. None of them spoke during the credit rolls. Some voice was whispering 'What now?' in her head. She looked at Michael but couldn't smile. He stared back at her, kept silent for a little longer then suddenly averted his eyes.

'I should probably, huh, go. It's getting late and you need to get some sleep to be all ready for work tomorrow. So you'll be effective. Efficient. Whatever. I should go.'

'Yeah, I guess so.' Her voice didn't convey any kind of conviction. He stood up, took his DVDs and went for the door. She followed him.

'Thanks, Mike, it was great. Exactly what I needed.' Well, maybe not _exactly_, she thought. Close enough.

'At your service, ma'am.', he answered, saluting her.

'I'll see you tomorrow.'

'Not if I see you first.'

He smiled at her one last time and she wondered if she was only imagining the longing she could see in his eyes. He turned around and quickly walked to his car. She didn't close the door until she could no longer see him.

He spent the next three days shouting 'Yippie ki-yay' during every (barely) critical moment. She beamed every time. The rest of the office wasn't quite as tolerant.

**2. The Fly**

They were curled on her sofa on a Thursday night. Pizzas and an almost finished bottle of wine in front of them, Holly had taken on broadening his movies horizons. After The Godfather (he had told her he had a whole new method for his sales call after that. She didn't ask, but was a little surprised she didn't receive any complaints) and before Casablanca (in spite of his dislike of black and white movies), she had decided to give him a little taste of one of her favourite movies. The kind of favourite movie she never talked about because people assumed she _obviously_ only watched rom coms. She didn't mind letting them assume. And, well, she might have cried a little in front of _When Harry Met Sally_ but honestly, who didn't?

'Are you afraid, Mike?'

'No...'

'You should be. That's what it says on the box. _Be afraid. Be very afraid_.'

'Well, I'm not.'

'Then you probably could open your eyes.'

'No, cause _then _I would be afraid. Duh.'

'Oh, trust me, there's nothing gross right now.'

'That's what you said last time, and he was pulling his _frigging _nail out.'

'Ah. Yes. That was kinda gross.'

'Huh. Right. So, see, that's why I'm not looking.'

He buried his head in her shoulder, hiding from Brundlefly. She ruffled his hair and when she hugged him tight, he somehow ended up on top of her. He didn't seem that afraid anymore, his eyes shinning, a grin appearing slowly on his face.

Jeff Goldblum killed the mood, though, when his ear fell off. He never saw the end.

**3. Casablanca**

'Black and white, Holly, come on, do you want to kill me?'

'It's a great movie, Mickey, be a little tolerant.'

'First, don't ever call me Mickey again or you'll regret it, _Hollis_, believe me. Second, this has nothing to do with tolerance, it just scientifically proves the movie blows and you want me to die of boredom. FYI, I haven't changed my will yet so... yeah, you won't get my CD collection if I die.'

'Well, that sucks. But, come on, Mike, please. It's my favourite movie.'

'You, come on, you're leaving for Nashua in three days, aren't there other things you want to do first?'

He pulled her towards him, wrapped his arms around her waist and smiled impishly. She was mad at him. It was weird, there was absolutely no reason, but she was mad at him. She breathed slowly, trying to shake the sensation off. She hugged him back and felt her eyes prickle again. Since they had learned about her transfer, thinking about their upcoming separation sometimes overwhelmed her. She always managed to burry it, to keep her composure for Michael. This time, it was harder than most times. She let her head fall on his shoulder and tried to swallow her fear.

'Hey, it's okay, we'll watch it, I'm sorry.' he whispered in her ear. He kissed her temple and held her against him.

'No, that's not... that's not it. You're right. We can do whatever you want.'

He chukledn but didn't let go of her. He looked at her, his eyes finding hers, and smiled.

'Eh, we'll have all the time, don't worry. Right now we'll go watch that thing. I'm sure it's great. If you like it, it has to be great, right?'

'Well, you know, everything I like _is_ great.'

He smiled again, but this time there was no ulterior motive. He just smiled, frankly, his eyes smiling too, looking at her so intensely she stopped breathing for a few seconds. For the first time, she realised she was falling in love with him.

He tucked a pack of her hair behind her ear, kissed her tenderly and said:

'So, let's go see that Bogart guy.'

'Please don't tell me you don't know Bogart.'

'Okay, I won't tell you.'

'You know what, I don't want to watch it. It's actually quite depressing. And I've seen it way too often.'

'You sure?'

He asked, his eyebrows raised.

She nodded.

'Whaddaya wanna do, then?'

She grabbed him by the tie and got him to follow her to her bedroom.

'Don't I owe you a yoga lesson?'

----

Christmas Eve.

He took the DVD out of its box and settled on his couch with a mug of cocoa and popcorn.

He had finally gotten around seeing it. Maybe he could get some advice from that Bogart guy. He looked quite stylish, from the picture on the box. It was her favourite movie and he just wanted to feel a little closer to her. He knew it was somehow pathetic, holding to something as insignificant as that. What else could he do? Moving on, sure, that's easy to say.

He watched, teary-eyed, Ingrid Bergman leaving the love of her life because it was too complicated. The airport, that poor dude just standing there with his coat and his hat, it was heart wrenching.

Poor Rick. Oh, how he could feel his pain. He imagined himself, witnessing a 1940s Holly leaving for a blurry guy in an airplane because it was just easier that way.

Stupid Bergman. Stupid Flax. No guts, all brains. He could see the reasons in her choice. Sure, that other guy needed her. Sure, leaving with a bartender wasn't quite as exciting as following a war hero. Sure, it was just easier that way. But where was the love in all that? That was just logic. Screw logic. When did logic ever help make good decisions? He shrugged, turned off his TV and clapped the remote control against his coffee table. The batteries flew out and rolled out of his sight. So that was it, the whole world was turning against him... Letting a low groan out, he got up and walked to his bedroom.

He fell on his bed and stayed there for a few minutes, his head deep in his pillow, his arms outstretched, trying to evacuate that terrible feeling. His jaws were tight, his eyes were wet, his breath was short. He felt homesick. Which didn't make any sense, he knew that, because he actually _was_ home, but he couldn't find a better way to describe it. That wasn't home. Being alone on a Christmas Eve, missing so much someone he might never even see again, something was missing. He always imagined himself in a house full of life, kids everywhere, friends who could come and go without any kind of formal invitation, a wife he loved and who loved him just as much.

He didn't have any of this. Sometimes, it felt like his luck had passed him by. He hadn't been able to hold on to her, now it was too late. He would never have it. Any of it. It was too late. He turned around, fixed the ceiling. His watch beeped for midnight.

Merry Christmas, Michael.

He tried to think happy thoughts. He needed to find something positive. He always did, in the end. That was how he rolled.

Well, after seeing this movie, he had made a decision, he had found one conviction he needed to stick to, no matter what.

He really needed to buy a hat.


End file.
